Where Angels Tread

The altar showed anomaly, an orb of light, a foil for small realities that I could easily forget but for that twilight cast, to things I touch or dream-- that spirit song sequestered where I cannot go. Thoughts of relevance ...of insight ...of perceptions being reconciled with the mundane then smiling at myself: all those are imprints on the mind vibrating in the here and now and possibly across the isthmus in the place where peace prevails. Orbs are discreet and diffident, and when you chase them down, they're gone. No peace remains this side of consciousness, yet on the journey of the open heart an awe ineffable, a resolution that a dream would trust and understand. Or a dream within a dream? Reality is ill defined. Yours, mine... until the breath is gone and consciousness fights on to redefine the light. And you and I will take awareness to the end of day--and bless it, certain that the night descends to claim its own dark benefice and decorous ecstacy. ~